witness statement to the national police

By Adam Zhou

i read
about how beggars
come running to the theatre
for the weekend features.
last time,
a boy
ate sixteen bullets.
the finale:
shadows
intertwining
with the spilled
liquid.

seconds pass
and i’m the only stranger
who is left here.
i’m still waiting
for the applause.
the closing
of the curtains.
what else
but to pretend
i’ve lost
the key
to my house.